Kind Hearted Demons
by MonSolo23
Summary: In 1931, Scotsdale Sanitarium was destroyed in a fire. The diary of a patient, Mary Alice Brandon, was found intact in the basement. This is her story. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Alice was created by Stephenie Meyer, and Cynthia's name is mentioned in _New Moon_. All other characters are my creation (yay!).**

_In 1931, Scotsdale Sanitarium was destroyed by a fire. This diary, belonging to a patient who died some years before, was found intact in the basement._

Diary of Mary Alice Brandon

June 23, 1922:

Happy birthday to me! My sister Cynthia gave me this diary today for my birthday. She said I should use it to record my thoughts. It's probably the best gift I've gotten in a long time, because I have a lot to say and almost no one who will listen. And then there are the things I don't want anyone to hear.

I wonder sometimes where the line is drawn between sane and insane. Does a crazy person know she's crazy? Can you be crazy if you know you're crazy? Heavy thoughts for a young lady, I know, especially when the other girls are worried about nothing more than sneaking into the speakeasies. But I've never been normal.

It's so hard to put my thoughts down on paper, to pull fantasies from the air and form them into reality. Thoughts are so transient and words so concrete.

Father's calling. Will write more later.

June 25, 1922:

Today was tranquil. I with Cynthia for nearly an hour and brushed her hair. My sister's hair is past her shoulders now, nearly as long as mine, though hers has lustrous waves that mine never will. She will be fifteen in the fall, and has the wide-eyed innocence of a young child still. She's my best friend in the world.

Ever since she began talking, without any explanation, my sister has called me "Alice." She is the only one who does, although my parents will occasionally call me "Mary Alice." To everyone else I'm always "Mary." As I worked on untangling her knots, Cynthia said to me, as she often does, "Tell me about your dreams, Alice."

My dreams, like so much of my life, are not normal. In fact, they are the reason my life is not normal. The dreams are incredibly vivid, and they often show things that happen days or weeks later. Lately, I've been slipping into daydreams so real I sometimes have trouble knowing when I sleep and when I wake. They are strange, often sad, sometimes terrifying.

And sometimes beautiful. I found one of those to share with my sister. "I saw the man who loves me," I began. She gasped and turned around to look at me, giddily surprised. My dreams cover many areas, but love is rarely one of them.

"What did he look like?" she asked. I described him to her in great detail. If men can indeed be beautiful, he was. There was something otherworldly about him, strange and incredibly alluring. Handsome chiseled features, a lean and muscular body, thick blond hair. Dark eyes like deep pools, skin pale as reflected moonlight. "What's his name?" Cynthia questioned.

"I don't know," I replied sadly. "But maybe I'll find out soon."

July 1, 1922:

My parents have tried for so long to hide my abnormality from everyone. It is not proper for young ladies in polite society to see things before they happen. But today everything was exposed.

We were walking down Main Street on our way to the theatre to see the new Charlie Chaplin picture when I saw something from the corner of my eye. I turned to look down the street. Flames were shooting up from Miller's Bakery. A great column of smoke rose into the air, and the fire licked hungrily at the wooden doorframe. Something inside exploded with a great crash.

"The bakery!" I screamed. "The bakery is on fire!" I could feel Mother staring at me coldly for making a scene. I didn't care; what if someone was inside the bakery? "Call the fire brigade!" By now, people on the street were staring at me. I could not believe that no one was listening to me.

"Alice," Cynthia's quiet voice caught my attention instantly. I turned to look at my sister, her wide eyes filled with fear. "There is no fire," she whispered. I turned and stared at the bakery. There were no flames, no smoke, no scorch marks. I felt a cold fear in the pit of my stomach.

Mother has told me for years that I am insane, and for the first time I fear that she may be right.

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	2. Chapter 2

**All characters mentioned in _Twilight_ belong to Stephenie Meyer. Everyone else belongs to me.**

July 4, 1922:

Miller's Bakery burned to the ground last night. There are whispers around town, whispers about me. Me, the crazy girl who thought she saw a fire not three days before a fire actually came. Mother looks at me with daggers in her eyes. Father avoids me completely, as though being in my presence will cause him to fall over dead.

Only Cynthia remains steadfastly on my side. She understands in a way that even I don't. "You tried to help," she reminded me. "They should have listened to you."

Hettie Parker insists that I am a demon, and my presence caused the bakery to burn down. I wonder sometimes if she is right, if I have been possessed by some evil that causes me to see things before they happen, but Cynthia will hear none of that. "If you were a demon, you would be evil," she contends. "And if you were evil, you wouldn't try to warn people." Her words make sense to me, but I know they will never satisfy the likes of Hettie Parker, or even Mother and Father.

When I think of the contempt my parents feel towards me, I am comforted by one of my recurring dreams. In the dream, I am surrounded by people who love me, though their faces are none I have ever seen in reality. The man from my other dream is among them, along with others. I still do not know any names, which is frustrating, but I have a feeling that they are my family in the purest sense of the word. They are all impossibly beautiful. More important than the beauty, though, is the love they all have for me and for each other. I shared the dream with Cynthia once, because it was so wonderful. Her reaction surprised me.

"Am I there, too, Alice?" she asked, her voice plaintive.

"Of course," I responded quickly—a little too quickly, but Cynthia didn't seem to notice. I felt guilty for a long time afterward. I hate lying to my sister. But I hate causing her pain even more, and she would have been pained to know that her face was not in the group of people surrounding me in my dream.

July 10, 1922:

My fingers tremble as I am writing this. My hand is shaking so badly that I can hardly form the letters into words. Never did I believe I would write these words: I have seen my own death.

No, not my death exactly. But I know the date that I will die. It is less than a month away.

The knowledge came to me in yet another dream: my parents and Cynthia standing in front of a gravestone. Cynthia is sobbing uncontrollably. Father stands in solemn resignation, and Mother has a look of grim satisfaction on her face. The gravestone reads:

_Mary Alice Brandon_

_June 23, 1903-August 2, 1922_

_Beloved Sister and Daughter_

_Requiescat In Pace_

August second. Only twenty-two days away. Twenty-two days until I die.

July 12, 1922:

Try as I might to forget my impending death, I can't. It doesn't seem to be something you can forget. Cynthia, perceptive as always, knows something is wrong, but I refuse to tell her. She asked me if it was another dream. I just nodded.

The image seems permanently implanted in my mind, and I can't look away. I think about it all the time. Everything about it is horrible, and nearly three days of constant thought hasn't taken away any of the shock. I don't know what the worst part is. Is it the horror of the inscription? Seeing your own name inscribed on a gravestone, along with the date of your death, is enough to drive anyone insane. But perhaps I am insane already. Is the worst part seeing the lack of grief on my parents' faces? My mother's face is particularly chilling. I wonder if Mother will be responsible for my death. I could easily believe it of her.

But the most painful thought is of Cynthia, her face twisted in grief. Her innocence is about to be shattered, and it is because of me. I wish there was something, anything, I could do to avoid causing her pain. But my death is already set in stone, as it were. And telling her would surely make the pain worse than leaving my death unexpected.


	3. Chapter 3

July 18, 1922:

Cynthia has been asking again about my dreams. I don't want to share any of them with her anymore, not with anyone. Not even myself. I know they are the cause of all of this, and I wonder what I could have done to deserve such a fate. Without my dreams my parents would accept me. My presence would not cause whispers whenever I walked down the street. I would not have to die in just over two weeks. And even if I was going to die anyway, I wouldn't be plagued by constant thoughts about my impending demise. I hate knowing the date, and knowing there's nothing I can do to change it.

I am tempted to test fate and try to take my own life before the date looming ever closer. But whenever I think such things, I suddenly see Cynthia's face at my funeral. If not for her…but I cannot bear the thought of causing my sister pain.

July 19, 1922:

Cynthia came to my room today and sat down beside me on the bed. "I think I know what's been bothering you," she said, her voice filled with fear. "I'm going to die, aren't I? You need to tell me, Alice! There must be a reason you see these things. Maybe you're meant to save people." She looked at me imploringly.

I shook my head. "No, Cynthia, I haven't seen your death," I assured her. But she still looked concerned. I knew she wouldn't rest until she knew the truth, as awful as it is. Which was worse, certainty or uncertainty? I decided to tell her and hoped I wouldn't regret it. "I saw my gravestone, and you and Mother and Father standing by it."

She gasped in horror. "When?" she asked finally.

"Soon." I couldn't bear to tell her any more, and she asked no more questions.

July 23, 1922:

I wonder why my dreams continue, showing things from my life that will never be. Now, nine days before I am to die, I know the name of the man who loves me: Jasper. I saw myself with him today. We are both incredibly happy and surrounded by love and peace. These days there is little of either outside of my dreams.

Everyone in the house is tense. Cynthia is affected by my revelation, but knows better than to say anything to Mother or Father. She keeps to herself now, but they barely notice. They spend much of their time talking together in hushed tones, and I believe my worst fears have been confirmed. They are planning how to kill me and make it look like an accident.

Mother has always said that reincarnation is blasphemy, but I am beginning to wonder if it is real. Perhaps I will meet Jasper when I am reborn, and the rest of my beautiful true family. It is the only thing I can draw comfort from these days, the hope that once I die I will begin again in a life better than this one.

July 31st, 1922:  
I had not planned to write any more, believing that this diary will be completely pointless in three days. Once I am dead, what use will my words be to anyone? But this morning, I was awakened by a dream of Cynthia finding this very book. Perhaps reading my words will help her deal with my death. I am not so vain as to believe she will be lost without me, but I know my death will be harder on her than on my parents.

Cynthia, if you are reading this, know that you are the most kindhearted person I have known in my nineteen years. Your life will bring you much happiness. Try not to dwell on my death. Instead, remember when I was alive: how we would sit up and tell stories all night, until the sun began to rise. When Father gave us money to go into town and buy ice cream. We had fourteen years of good memories, dear sister. Don't let one day mar the rest of your life.

August 2nd, 1922:

Dear Cynthia,

I have dreaded this day ever since I learned its significance. As the day dawned, however, I was filled with a sense of peace. This is not an end, but a beginning. I can only hope that this diary finds its way into your hands. If—

My writing was interrupted when I suddenly slipped into another daydream. It showed a large building surrounded by a high fence topped with barbed wire. The name over the gate read "Scotsdale Sanitarium."

It took every bit of self-control I had to keep myself from laughing in relief. Scotsdale is the asylum located not ten miles from our house. My parents are not planning to kill me after all! True, they are placing me in a building filled with deranged people and pretending that I died. But compared to murder, this seems almost acceptable.

I plan to bring the diary with me, though I doubt they let the inmates have anything so dangerously sharp as a pen. Even if I cannot write another letter, perhaps the words I have already written will tie me to this part of my life and keep me from going insane.


	4. Chapter 4

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August 11? (I cannot be sure), 1922:

So much to say! Where to begin? I suppose I should start with how I came to be writing again. The sanitarium is run by Mr. Scotsdale, whom I have never met and probably never will. But one of the men who works here, Matthew, is almost kind to me.

Matthew has the same unearthly beauty about him as Jasper and the other members of my dream-family. But his face is not one I recognize from my dreams. Matthew looks to be around thirty-five or forty. He has short, wiry red hair and a stubbly beard which never seems to grow longer. But he never shaves, either. And he always wears glasses with lenses so dark I can't see his eyes.

Such strange things…but even though Matthew frightens me sometimes, with his never-changing face and strange dark glasses, he has made me certain that my dreams of another family are going to happen one day. If a man such as him exists, then certainly the others I have dreamed of exist as well. And he was the one who procured a pencil for me to write with—as I assumed, the inmates are not allowed anything sharp, writing implements included—so I must hide this book and pencil well.

They keep us all in individual rooms. The solitude is maddening; aside from Matthew and the other guards, the only human contact I have is when we are let out into the courtyard for an hour every day. The yard is surrounded by a tall fence topped with barbed wire, though whether it is meant to keep us in or others out I cannot say. They let us out in groups of four and five, and we are carefully supervised the entire time. From what I can gather, there are between forty and fifty of us in the A Ward. The others, in the B Ward, are not let out of their rooms at all. They are either violent or so deep in their own madness that it would be too dangerous to let them out even for an hour of sunshine.

I decided to tell Cynthia about our parents' plan, hoping it would ease her mind. She seemed relieved, but not as much as I was. "It still means I'll never see you again," she pointed out. "They're sending you there to die!"

I put a hand on her shoulder. "Cynthia, listen to me. You must pretend that I am dead. You can't let Mother and Father know that you know where I am, all right? But I know that you are going to live a long and happy life."

She nodded, tears in her eyes. "You can see me in your dreams?"

I improvised quickly. It was my last gift to my sister, the only one who's ever understood me. "I see you as an old woman, surrounded by your children and grandchildren. They're all at your house for Christmas." I hope I was at least partially right. I think I gave her hope, and I don't want it to be in vain.

I think of Cynthia often now, wondering how she's doing. Does she miss me as much as I miss her? It doesn't seem possible. I remember the long conversations we used to have. I'd sit and brush her hair…

They shaved my hair off. All of it. I didn't cry when my parents brought me here—after all, I'd had time to get used to the idea—but I did cry when they took my hair. They stripped me of my dignity, made me out to be no better than a common criminal.

Matthew is the only one in this place who seems to care about me, and doesn't just see me as another worthless crazy. But I'm not sure if I like him or not.

Time for my hour outside. I'll write more tomorrow.

August 11 (definitely!), 1922:

I was able to keep a fairly close estimation of the date—yesterday was actually the 10th. I met with Matthew today, and asked him the date. Which, as it turned out, was all the real information I could get from him. I asked him about the state of his beard, and he changed the subject.

Tomorrow, Matthew informs me, I will be starting therapy. It's supposed to "cure me of my visions." Or, in other words, it's supposed to stop my dreams. I've never thought of them as "visions" before, but I suppose that's what they are. It's odd, how pieces are falling into place in this godforsaken mental facility. I finally have a term to describe what happens to me. I've also redefined myself. After introducing myself to everyone as "Alice," the name stuck. I'm sure they know my name should be Mary and they're just placating me, but I've always felt that "Alice" fit me better. Maybe it just reminds me of my sister.

And, I had another dream—no, _vision_—about my other family. I still have no idea when these things are going to happen, but I feel absolutely sure they will.

I wonder if this therapy Matthew told me about will work. Sometimes I almost hope it doesn't. My visions are a part of me. Sometimes I hate them. They turned my own parents against me. Still, if Jasper and these other people are connected to my visions, I'm glad I have them. We'll see how tomorrow goes.

**And the plot thickens...chapter 5 coming soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you everyone for the wonderful feedback! By the way, I still don't own "Twilight."**

August 13, 1922:

I couldn't write yesterday. The therapy nearly killed me. They strapped me to this machine with metal clamps. When they turned it on, it felt like my body was on fire. Matthew explained that the machine pumps electricity into my body. The pain was almost enough to drive me insane. Of course, they all assume I'm insane already, so it doesn't matter what they do to me.

And another thing: the "therapy" actually made me have another vision. It wasn't even a nice one. It was another man, with the same strange looks as Matthew, and Jasper and the others from my vision-family. But this man had bright red eyes and a cruel smile. He looked at me like I was a piece of meat.

I saw his face in my dreams last night. I could barely sleep after that. I was up almost the whole night. Matthew came in some time around 4 or 5 AM. I jumped when he opened the door. "Sorry," he whispered. "I was just checking up on you."

I finally fell asleep again after he left. My dreams were filled with strange sights and sounds. I couldn't make any sense of them. I woke up an hour later when I heard a loud scream. I'm not sure if it was in my dream or not. Someone is always screaming here.

Every time I think about Matthew I have more questions. Why was he up in the middle of the night? Someone is always up in case there's an emergency, but Matthew can't work the day shift and the night shift. What was he doing in my room? He didn't seem surprised to find me awake. Did he know I wasn't asleep? Has he ever come in before, while I was sleeping? Doesn't he have a home that he goes to when he's not working? Anyway, I haven't seen him since then. Even this afternoon, when he's usually around, he was gone. I asked one of the other workers about Matthew, and he looked surprised. Like I wasn't supposed to remember or recognize anyone. He told me, "Don't worry. He'll be around again."

I hate how nobody takes me seriously.

There are whispers going around. Someone in the B Ward, with the severely crazy people, died last night. A girl, not much older than me. One of the workers found her body early this morning. They said she killed herself. Her arms were covered with cuts, and one of her windows is broken. Their conclusion: in a fit of hysteria, she broke the window and then cut herself with the broken glass until she died.

August 14, 1922:

Matthew was gone again today. I hope he's all right. I've tried talking to other people, but the workers assume I'm crazy and the other patients are all caught up in their little worlds. Since I'm alone so much now I spend more time escaping to mine. My special place that only exists in my mind, with Jasper and the others. I wish I knew more about them.

Later that day:

I was able to have an actual conversation with one of the patients, during our time outside. His name is George, and he lives right below the girl who died. He told me he heard her scream yesterday morning, and then everyone came running. He heard the workers yelling, and someone shouted, "But there's no blood!"

How could there be no blood if she slit her wrists? I don't know whether he's telling the truth or not. He wouldn't lie, but does he have a grip on reality?

Do I? Does anyone?

August 16, 1922:

Two things happened yesterday. Or maybe three. I had another "therapy" session, which made me have another vision. The man with the red eyes again. If Mother heard about him, she'd say I'd seen the devil. Hettie Parker would add that he's calling me home. Cynthia would say that sometimes dreams are just dreams. But I wouldn't believe any of them. I don't know who he is, and I don't want to.

I also saw Matthew again, in person, yesterday afternoon. He was still wearing the dark glasses. I wanted to ask him why he always wears them, but he didn't let me ask him anything. Not that he'd tell me the truth anyway.

I saw George again today. He asked me why I was here, and I told him it was because I had visions and saw things before they happened. He told me that he was here because no one believes him when he says that he saw his cousin turn into a wolf. I tried not to laugh when he said that, because George is the closest thing to a friend I've had since I came here. I don't want to lose that. Matthew's been nice, but I don't trust him.

Anyway, I found out that George is twenty-two and he's been here for five years. I can't imagine living that long in this place. George said it gets easier after a while. I asked him if it was lonely. He just said it was nice to have someone to talk to.

**A/N: This story has nearly 300 hits! Wow! **


	6. Chapter 6

August 17, 1922:

George told me today that he doesn't like Matthew. I pointed out that Matthew was the only one of the workers who treats me like a human being. I told him about my journal, and how Matthew found me a pencil to write with. Matthew and George are my only allies here, and I don't want them set against each other.

"You're one of his favorites," George concluded. He sounded worried. At first I thought he was jealous. "Tatiana was another of his special patients," he explained. Tatiana was the girl who killed herself last week. But George thinks it wasn't a suicide.

"Matthew didn't kill her," I argued. "He couldn't have!" Matthew makes me nervous, but he's not a murderer. They don't let murderers work with sick people. Even if they're sick in the head.

I met with Matthew this afternoon. He took his glasses off for a minute to clean them. I've been thinking so much about the devil-man with the red eyes that for a minute I thought Matthew's eyes were red too. Or maybe they really were, which is a chilling thought. Maybe they will be in the future. I don't know how, but nothing in my life has ever made sense. I wish I knew the answer.

Matthew sits with me in my room once a week to talk about things. He asks many questions and answers very few. I'd assumed that he meets with everyone in the A Ward, or someone does, but now I'm not sure. If he does have "favorites," like George said, he may not meet with anyone else.

He asked me if the visions had stopped since I'd begun the therapy. I considered lying to him, because if they believe the visions have stopped they'll leave me alone. "Don't lie to me. I know you better than you think, Alice," Matthew cautioned. His words sent a chill up my spine. "I know you're in your right mind. And I will know if you lie to me."

"They haven't stopped," I admitted, my voice shaking. "I've had the same one twice now when they shocked me. There's a man with red eyes and pale skin, as pale as yours. And the way he looks at me…" I had to stop then to keep from shaking.

"Would you recognize him if you saw him?" Matthew asked gently. I nodded. "I won't let him hurt you," he promised. I wish I could believe him.

August 20, 1922:

I had another "therapy" session today, and another vision. Matthew was fighting the man with red eyes. They faced off, growling and snarling at each other like wild animals. I couldn't tell who was winning. It seemed as though they were going to destroy each other.

Matthew told me he tried to get the people in charge to stop the therapy, because the shocks cause me to have visions. They said that if they do it long enough, the visions will stop. I guess they assume that the visions are caused by something inside me that needs to be used up, and once it's gone the visions will stop.

There's nothing much else to report. My life has become monotonous: wake up, eat breakfast in my cell, sit around all morning, eat lunch. After lunch comes more sitting around until we're let outside. Talking to George has become the highlight of my day. He's surprisingly good-natured about our predicament, and he's even able to joke about it. He made me laugh today. It feels so good to laugh. George told me I have a beautiful laugh, which made me blush.

If my life was normal, and neither of us was stuck in this place…but of course there's no point in following the "what-ifs."

August 23, 1922:

Matthew told me they're going to start doing the therapy more often. I shudder to think of it. I will never get used to the pain, or the fearful visions that always accompany it.

I'm too tired to write anything else.


	7. Chapter 7

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August 24, 1922:

Once again I feel as though I am staring death in the face. Today when I was out in the yard, I saw the red-eyed man in person. At first I thought it was another vision, like when I thought the bakery was burning. Was that only two months ago? It seems like a lifetime.

But George saw the red-eyed man too, which means that he was really there. I tried to tell Matthew, but he was gone again today.

There was another death last night. This time it was an old man in the B ward. His name was Barnabas. I'd never met him. It looked like a suicide again, but from what I've heard Barnabas was not violent at all. In fact, he was almost catatonic.

They've been giving me the electric shocks almost every day now. The pain is so great that I can barely do anything. It hurts too much to move. Sometimes I'm even in too much pain to sleep.

They will not stop until they've driven me insane.

August 29, 1922:

They've started shocking me every day now, and everything's gotten worse. The visions are still coming. It's becoming harder and harder to pull myself out of them and back to reality.

I was finally able to tell Matthew about the red-eyed man today. He seemed startled but unconcerned. That made me even more worried. Doesn't he believe me? This man, this monster, wants to kill me. That much I know. But Matthew simply told me he would protect me. I don't understand how, when I barely see him anymore. At least he didn't tell me I was safe in here. The fence may be imposing, but it won't keep out a man who fights like a wild animal.

Another disturbing side effect of the constant electroshock: I'm beginning to forget things. My memories of my life before coming here are beginning to slip away. There's not much about my old life that I want to remember, except for my sister. I can still recall her bright, hopeful face, the sound of her laugh, or the way she'd put a comforting arm around my shoulder when my parents condemned me and my abnormalities.

I still remember my sister. For now.

September 8, 1922:

I've spent most of the past week caught up in a haze of pain and fantasy. When I wasn't in the horrible room with the electroshock machine, I was caught in the grip of my visions. Today I finally felt like myself again. I think it was because I didn't get the shock treatment yesterday…or was that two days ago? If only I could remember. George told me he'd been worried about me. It was so good to talk with him today. I feel as though I'm missing out on life, like I'm trapped in another world of my own creation.

I saw the red-eyed man again today. He looked right at me. I was standing next to the fence, and he reached over and tried to grab my arm. I let out a bloodcurdling scream. That brought the attendants running. I shouted, "There's a man with red eyes! He's standing right outside the fence!" But by then he was long gone.

I'm struggling to hold on to my sanity now. I won't let them win. I've got this book on my side, the words I've written and the memories I've recorded. George helps me as well, and Matthew. This diary is my past. Inexplicably, I think of George as my present, and Matthew as the future. I know by now that when I have feelings like this that I can't shake, I shouldn't ignore them. But I wish it wasn't so.

Why shouldn't it be the other way around? I'd much rather have George in my future than Matthew.

September 9, 1922:

Never, not even when I saw my family standing around my grave, have I wished so fervently for a vision to not happen. If there was anything in my power that I could do to prevent it, I would. I wish I wasn't so helpless! Sitting here like a caged animal, waiting for my fears to come true.

I am afraid to write what I have seen. If I don't write it down, perhaps it will not come to pass. It is a vain and childish hope, but writing it down would make it more real than I want it to be. I feel so alone and helpless. I can only pray that my latest vision will not prove to be true.

**Chapter 8 will be up soon...I promise!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Because this is a short chapter, I'm posting 9 at the same time. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback! I'm up to over 700 hits on my story and 30 reviews! Wow!**

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**Okay, end commercial. On with the story.**

**--**

September 11, 1922:

I cried all morning. Now I'm just numb. It has happened as I feared. George was killed last night. They're calling it a suicide, like all the others, but I know my friend would never kill himself. Ever. He and I banded together. I honestly believe he was keeping me sane, and I think I helped him as much as he helped me.

I normally don't cry, but I did over George. It was the first time since I came here and they shaved my head. It seems odd that I should have cried over something so trivial; my hair has already begun to grow back. But George was my only friend here. I'm confident that he was as sane as I am. In a world where girls like me can see the future, perhaps there are men who can become wolves as well. I feel an irrational hatred for them, the men (animals?) who were indirectly responsible for sending George here to die. If he had never seen whatever happened with his cousin, he would still be alive.

Now that it has happened, I suppose I can describe the vision. I saw George being murdered. There was a blur of movement, a strangled scream, and an overwhelming sense of fear. I got a brief glimpse of the killer's face, looking up from George's body with bright red eyes. But it wasn't the demon-man from the visions.

It was Matthew.

September 12, 1922:

They're moving me to the B Ward tomorrow. Ever since George's death, I've been acting "strangely." What the hell do they expect? Honestly. But nobody expected me to be affected by anything going on here.

I've told anyone who would listen (and everyone who won't) that Matthew killed George. If I say it often enough, people may start to…not believe me, but maybe consider watching Matthew more carefully. I can't be the only one who's noticed that his disappearances always coincide with a patient's death.

Matthew was gone again. Big surprise. I should probably be afraid that I'm next, but somehow I'm not. I need to talk to him and make sense of everything. This time, I don't care how long it takes. I'm getting answers.


	9. Chapter 9

**And now, the chapter you've all been waiting for: Matthew reveals everything.**

September 15, 1922:

My new room in the B Ward has no windows. None. I've also lost my yard privileges, which means I haven't seen the sun in three days. I spent the first two days in total darkness. It was terrifying. At least the shock treatments have stopped for now.

I was absolutely convinced that they would leave me in here to die, until the door opened this morning. Matthew came to see me. He brought a lantern, and this diary (which was hidden under my mattress in my old room. The attendants wouldn't leave me alone even for a minute to gather my things, so I was sure I'd have to leave this behind). Matthew walked in and sat next to me on my cot. I edged away from him, as if that would do any good.

It was hard to read his expression in the dim light. "They told me first thing this morning that you'd been moved," he began. "They said you'd been saying preposterous things about me."

"They're true," I said quietly. "I saw you, Matthew. You killed George." I had to stop talking then, because I was on the verge of crying again.

"I talked to Mr. Scotsdale," he said gently. "I was able to make him see that the shock treatments are doing you more harm than good. You won't have to go through that again, not ever."

Just like always, trying to change the subject. "He was my best friend. My only friend," I corrected myself. "He found out about you, didn't he? That's why you killed him. All the others were in the B Ward." Matthew stared at me in shock, which made me even more furious. "You're just like everyone else here, aren't you? Thinking I'm just a stupid crazy, I couldn't possibly put the pieces together!"

"Alice…" he began.

"Don't lie to me," I warned him, throwing his own words back at him mockingly. "I'll know if you lie. I know more about you than you think."

"You don't know anything about me," he said quietly, his voice dangerous. "You couldn't possibly know what I am."

"Then tell me," I challenged him.

He took a deep breath. "I've only been working here at Scotsdale for two years," he began. "My story starts much earlier than that. When I was thirty, people began mysteriously disappearing from my town. Occasionally they'd find a body, covered in strange cuts and drained of blood." Like Tatiana, and Barnabas, and George. "When my wife disappeared, I knew I had to do something," he continued. I was shocked. I hadn't known he'd ever been married. "I gathered as many men as I could find, and we went to hunt down the killer. Then we found him."

He paused for a minute before going on. "He killed me," Matthew said finally. "This man, this monster, wasn't human. He killed his victims by drinking their blood. But he didn't take enough from me to kill me, and I became like him." While I was still processing that information, Matthew added, "That was over two hundred years ago."

I gasped. "You…you're over two hundred years old?" I cried.

He nodded. "The transformation left me unable to age…incapable of any physical change. Even the length of my hair." Which finally explained his eternal stubble. My mind was reeling. "And it left me with the same thirst for blood. I've been working for two hundred years to escape it, but I can't. There's nothing I can do about it." His face was painful to see. He looked so sad.

"The red-eyed man from your visions is the same sort of demon I am," Matthew continued. "I learned that his name is James. He was here the other night."

A chill ran up my spine. The horrible man—James—here, in the same building? "So then he killed George?" I asked hopefully. I still didn't want to believe that Matthew could kill him, even if he needed to drink blood.

Matthew shook his head sadly. "I was trying to save George," he explained. "To do to him what had been done to me. But I took too much blood, and he died." I shivered. "I thought James was after your friend, but I'm beginning to believe he was actually after you," Matthew continued. "You should be safer here than in the A Ward, but if James comes looking for you…Alice, do you want me to try and save you?"

My answer was immediate. "Absolutely not." I couldn't possibly imagine spending eternity alone, plagued by a thirst for human blood. What kind of life could I have if I couldn't get close to anyone without the fear of killing them? I'd rather die than be alone forever.


	10. Chapter 10

September 16, 1922:

Matthew left his lantern in my room, so I have light. It's better than being in complete darkness, but I still wish I had a window. The B Ward is even more monotonous than the A Ward. I miss the sunlight. Matthew's promised to come see me whenever he can, but the rest of the time I'm alone. Completely alone, with just me and my thoughts.

I had a dream—maybe vision?—last night: Jasper, wandering alone through the woods, looking lost and confused and lonely. What does it mean? Was it a vision, or just a dream? With everything that's happened with George, I'd almost forgotten about my other family. Why am I suddenly not with them anymore? Why has my future changed? This has never happened before. Has something happened to Jasper? I wish my life came with directions.

September 17, 1922:

I am determined to write something every day now, because there is absolutely nothing else to do. The solitude is threatening to drive me mad. I'm afraid it may already be too late. For some reason, whether from the constant electric shocks or the simple fact that I haven't seen them in months, I can't remember my family at all. Not even Cynthia. Looking back on my earlier entries, I feel that this should hurt me more than it does. But it's hard to feel pain for forgetting someone you don't remember.

September 18, 1922:

Matthew came to visit me again today. He had a very serious look on his face. "Alice, I beg you to reconsider my offer," he pleaded. "James is still looking for you. I can protect you for now, but if something were to happen to me…" I suddenly recalled my vision where Matthew and James were fighting to the death, and shivered. I don't want to die.

But if Matthew succeeds, what will happen then? An eternity of loneliness and solitude, where I risk bringing death to everyone I meet? "I have nothing left to live for," I told him quietly. "I don't even remember my family, not that they'd want me if I did. My only friend is dead, and I'll never even meet Jasper." A tear escaped down my cheek.

I realized that I'd never told Matthew about my other family. But before I could explain, Matthew interrupted, "When did your vision change?" He seemed startled. I stared back at him, confused. How did he know? "I read your diary after they brought you up here," he confessed. "From what I've read, I believe that Jasper is like me. They all are."

"No!" I gasped. Not Jasper. Not the rest of my perfect family. They couldn't be like Matthew. He's a monster, a demon, and demons can't love.

Can they?

September 19, 1922:

I tried experimenting with my abilities. Last night, I was thinking about Matthew's words, and wondering what would happen if I agreed to let him turn me into a demon. When I fell asleep, I had another dream-vision with Jasper. This time, we were together in the woods. We were holding hands, and there was a sense of peace and happiness surrounding us. For the first time, I got a look at myself with him. My skin has the same pallor as his, and my hair is short and spiky. If this change is going to come, it's going to be soon.

For some reason, my eyes in the vision were different, too. They're blue right now, but when I saw myself, they were brown. Maybe Matthew will know the reason.

Is it possible that this change is how I get to meet Jasper? If he really is a demon like Matthew, it would probably be safer for him to be around me if I was a demon too. I hope Matthew comes back today or tomorrow. I have more questions for him.

September 20, 1922:

I've been thinking constantly about Matthew's offer, going back and forth in my mind. I don't want to die, but I don't want to become a demon, but I want to meet Jasper, but how sure am I really that things will happen the way I've seen them? Do I want to live forever if that life is cursed? But how can it be a curse if Jasper and I are so happy?

I tried to use my visions to decide, and see how things will turn out. Now I can't see anything at all, which terrifies me. Why have I suddenly lost my gift? And yet, I haven't lost it completely. I know it's going to rain tomorrow, even though I haven't been able to look outside for weeks now.

September 21, 1922:

Matthew came to see me today. Before he could say anything, I asked him, "What's the weather today?" He looked confused, and I explained, "I feel so alone here. I don't know anything about the outside world at all. And I miss the sunshine."

He looked guilty, and answered, "You're not missing much today. There's a thunderstorm going on outside. And I'm sorry you're locked away in here, Alice. I'm only doing this to protect you from James. Have you thought any more about my offer?" The question had a strange urgency to it.

"Constantly," I told him. I described my latest vision to him, and asked him about my eyes.

"You're sure they were brown?" he asked. I nodded, and he shook his head. "That's not possible. Your eyes will be different after the change—that's something that always happens to our kind—but they'll never be brown. They're black when we're thirsty, and red when…we're not." I understood his meaning, and suppressed a shudder. "Which is why I always wear the dark glasses," he added. I'd figured as much.

"Alice, I can only hold James off for so long," he confessed after a moment. "If I don't change you, he _will_ kill you." He reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. His hand was as cold as ice, and I flinched away. "What have you decided?"

"I haven't," I admitted softly. "I've tried looking into the future to see what I decide, but it won't work. I can't see anything."

Matthew looked worried. "That might mean you have no future…" When he saw the look of panic on my face, he continued, "or that you must decide _before_ you can see the outcome." Suddenly, he stood up. "There's a problem downstairs. I need to go now, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

By "problem," I hope he doesn't really mean "James." And I suppose it's up to me to decide my own future.

So what do I decide?

**A/N: Wow, over a thousand hits on my story! And nearly 50 reviews! I feel loved. I haven't decided completely yet, but the story will probably wrap up in another 2 or 3 chapters.**


	11. Chapter 11

September 22, 1922:

I've decided. It terrifies me to no end, but I've decided to accept Matthew's offer. Looking back on my earlier entries, when I thought my parents were going to kill me, I wondered if I would meet Jasper after I was reborn. I suppose I can look at this change as my rebirth. The old part of me, the human part, is going to die and I will rise again as something newer, stronger, and different. And evil? Possibly.

I still haven't decided whether Matthew is good or evil. On the one hand, he kills people. He killed my best friend, and there's a good possibility he will kill me. On the other hand, he didn't mean to kill George and he only killed the others because he needs blood.

I am about to step into a new world, strange and terrifying, where I will live for a long time, even hundreds of years, and never grow older. A world where I will always be thirsty for human blood. But a world with Jasper, and the rest of my family. The details of my family are always changing. Sometimes I see Jasper alone, and sometimes with others. I still don't know any names besides Jasper's, but here's what I have so far:  
-Me, as a demon like Matthew and Jasper  
-Jasper, impossibly beautiful and in love with me  
-Another tall, handsome man with blond hair. From what I can gather, he's the "father" of our little family.  
-A boy with coppery hair and an impish smile…a brother? I've always wanted a brother.  
-A woman with soft hair the color of caramel and a lovely face. She is, quite obviously, the "mother."

They all have the same brown eyes that Matthew insists his kind can never have. But there must be a way…I don't know why this small detail is so important, but for some reason I can't put it out of my mind. Perhaps because Matthew has told me it is impossible, but I've seen it. Since meeting him and finding out about the existence of these demons, I've re-defined what is "impossible."

September 23, 1922:

Matthew was relieved to hear my decision. He shared more information with me about what I'll be like after the change. Some of it sounds nice: I will be stronger and faster than any human. My skin will become hard and cold, like marble. He also cautioned me to stay out of the sun when other people were around. "Why?" I asked.

He smiled. "Our skin sparkles in the sunlight," he answered. "It feels wonderful. It's one of the best things about my new life, but you can never let humans see yourself that way." I realized that I'd hardly ever seen Matthew outside. All of the guards take turns supervising our time out in the yard, but for some reason Matthew only supervised when the skies were overcast. I suddenly understood why.

Another astonishing fact: I won't be able to sleep. At all. I can't wrap my head around the idea of giving up sleep. Matthew laughed at my concern. "Sleep is a human weakness," he informed me. "After the change, you'll be able to spend all of your time doing something. You'll never feel tired again, never need to stop your activities because your frail body has worn itself out." I must have looked skeptical, because he admitted, "It was strange for me, at first. But once you get used to it, you'll wonder why you ever wanted to sleep."

"What about the thirst?" I asked quietly. "Does it ever go away?" He looked incredibly uncomfortable. "If I'm going to join you, I need all the facts," I reasoned. "If it helps, nothing you say is going to change my mind."

"I've been working on my self-control for years, and it's still not perfect," he confessed. "But now I can stand to be around humans now without killing them immediately." He flashed an inhuman smile. I gasped and shifted myself backwards away from him. Unfortunately, I was sitting on my cot, which is pushed up against the wall, so I couldn't go very far.

For the first time, I got a glimpse of the demon inside of Matthew. It terrified me even more than James. At least with him, I know he's evil. But Matthew seems so…not "normal," but…I don't know. He doesn't seem evil at first. I don't think he wants to be evil. But there's no escape for him, which means there will be no escape for me.

"You'll have Jasper," Matthew reminded me. I had to smile at that. It's strange, to feel such love for someone I've never met. But an eternity with the one you love…that would be wonderful. We'll have forever, the two of us…no, the five of us. Jasper, me, our "parents," and my "brother."

Whatever happens to me in my new life, we can get through it together.

**A/N: In case you were wondering, the reason Alice can't see the other Cullens is because they're still human. I toyed with the idea of her being able to see them all, but Rosalie didn't join them until the thirties, and I didn't think human Alice could see 10 years into the future. Anyway, thanks again for the wonderful feeback! Reviews make my day! Also, if I do a story about Alice after the change (which is looking like a good possibility at this point) it will be a separate story.**


	12. Chapter 12

September 24, 1922:

I'm restless. It's odd, that I should be anxiously waiting the day when Matthew tells me that James has come to kill me. But it promises change, and a chance to begin again. Right now my life is stagnant. I'm completely tired of this life. Anything is better than being locked in a windowless cell in an insane asylum, with no one to care about me save the man who may, despite his best efforts, end up killing me. After all of the thought that went in to this decision, I'm ready for something to _happen_ because of it.

I'm anxious to be attacked by a homicidal maniac. Perhaps I've lost my mind after all.

September 25, 1922:

There is nothing to write about. Nothing happened today, and nothing is going to happen either (I checked). I looked back and re-read everything I wrote earlier. I tried, in vain, to remember my sister's face. I thought about George for a while, before the memory of his death became too painful. I thought of some more questions to ask Matthew the next time he comes to visit me:  
-Can we be killed at all, and if so, how?  
-Will my visions stop?  
-Will the change make me any taller? (I kind of doubt it, but it's worth a shot. That would be nice.)  
-How good are my chances of surviving the transformation? I can't forget what happened to the last person Matthew "saved."

I don't know what to believe anymore about an afterlife, but I hope that George is at peace wherever he is.

September 26, 1922:

Matthew came back today, and for once he answered my questions. It's still strange to hear him being honest with me. I do appreciate it greatly.

Matthew's answers:  
-We are nearly indestructible, but it is possible for us to be killed. The only way is dismemberment. Lovely.  
-The change makes our dominant characteristics stronger, so Matthew believes my visions will continue and I will be able to see more and farther into the future. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.  
-Unfortunately, this is as tall as I'm going to get.  
-Matthew told me that I'd be more likely to know if I'd survive than he would, and asked me if I could see the transformation. I can't.

Right before he left, I thought of one more question, and called after Matthew as he was walking to the door. "Do we have to kill _people_?"

He turned around and looked at me intently, surprised. "I…to be honest, Alice, I'm not sure," he admitted. "I'd never considered any other possibility. Animals don't appeal to me at all."

He's over two hundred years old, and I asked him a question he'd never heard before. I feel a sense of pride in that.

September 27, 1922:

It's going to happen tomorrow. I saw it. Matthew and James were fighting again, but I couldn't see who was winning. Somehow, I know it will be tomorrow. Despite my brave words before, I'm terribly nervous. I don't know who will live and who will die, and it scares me to death. The not knowing. I suppose I'm spoiled, knowing more about the future than most, that when I don't know it's even more frustrating.

This is it, the beginning and the end. I don't know what to say or how I should feel. I'm nervous, obviously. This could all go horribly wrong. James could kill Matthew, or Matthew could kill me. The odds are probably stacked against me. If only I could see the outcome. It worries me that I can't, but I won't dwell on that.

I can't say I'm excited, because there is too much fear. But I'm ready. I'm ready for this life to be over, one way or the other. My family is gone and forgotten; I have no friends. Matthew is the only one tying me to this life, and he will usher me into the next one.

I never imagined myself here, poised on the edge between life and death, between reality and a world so fantastic that most people would doubt its existence. It's not the life I would have chosen for myself. But we never get to choose, do we? These are the cards I've been dealt, and now I'm going to play them.

The stakes are high. I'm playing with my life, and possibly my soul. But I like it. There's something incredibly freeing about risking everything. Maybe after my transformation is complete, I'll head to Las Vegas. Once I can stand to be around humans. I wonder how long it will take…it better not be two hundred and fifty years. After all of this solitude, I need to be around people.

This may be my last entry before my transformation. I can't wait until I have more to report.

**A/N: There will be at least one more chapter, and I think I'm going to have Matthew write something in her journal as well. The sequel will be up as a separate story.**

**Also, in case you were wondering why neither Alice nor Matthew ever uses the word "vampire": Bram Stoker's _Dracula_ hadn't been around very long, and anyway, the Twilight vampires bear very little resemblance to the typical vampire.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Here is Alice's final entry, followed by an epilogue from James' point of view (it was creepy being inside his head). Matthew also writes an entry after transforming Alice, and I've put his part in italics.**

September 28, 1922

I don't have time to write much. Matthew came about 15 minutes ago and told me, "James is here." He's in the asylum. I don't know what he's doing, aside from looking for me. The death toll will be pretty high. But there's no time to worry about the other patients.

"He knows I'm in the B Ward," I told Matthew as soon as he opened the door. I'd seen it. So Matthew grabbed me—he just picked me up like I was a sack of potatoes—and ran with me down to the basement. It will buy us a little more time, though I can't say how much exactly.

I can see now that it's going to work. Matthew's not going to kill me. If only I knew who was going to win their fight.

The next words I write will be after my transformation is complete.

It's time.

_15 minutes later…_

_Her blood calls to me, even as I hear her screaming in agony, crying out for death. Have I done the right thing after all?_

_Little Alice has an awful lot of faith in me and my self-restraint. I asked to read what she was writing, and I could tell she made up that last bit. That's my gift: I can see things about people. I can't hear thoughts exactly, but I can look at someone and just KNOW about them. It varies from person to person; sometimes I can just tell what they're feeling at the moment, and other times I know things about their past or who is important to them. It's how I knew that Alice was as sane as her friend George, and how I can tell when someone is lying to me or doesn't trust me._

_I knew that Alice had not really seen me saving her, yet her trust in me gave me courage. Perhaps it was exactly what I needed, because I was able to refrain from killing her. I can optimistically say that the worst is over. Three long days of pain await her, but for now, she is safe. I suppose I should have told her about the pain, though there really is no way to prepare for the horror of the transformation._

_I can see the benefit of having a book for recording one's thoughts; it takes my mind off of the hopelessness of our situation. We have precious little time. James is a powerful tracker, and I am sure he will find us soon. But my poison is spreading through Alice's system, and before long she will be too far into the transformation to appeal to him. _

--Epilogue--

James' POV

After weeks of preparation, the hunt was coming to an end. I was nearly bursting with anticipation. I could almost taste her blood already, the tiny girl locked away from the world. I found out that she was locked up because she has visions of the future. Interesting. They'd been treating her with electroshock therapy, until that was stopped by someone working at the asylum. I was intrigued to discover that he was like me. Unfortunately, he was extremely uncooperative. I always prefer to not eliminate my own kind, but the old one was in my way.

He tried hiding her away in the top floor, which didn't work for long. I planned my attack very carefully, waiting nearly a week longer than I had to. When I got inside, I quickly discovered he had tried to save her by moving her again. I had to snap a few necks to find their new location--I was careful not to spill any blood, because I didn't want to ruin my appetite--and I learned he had taken her to the basement. I could have easily killed everyone in the asylum, but I couldn't wait much longer for my prize. I killed a path to the basement and jammed the door shut behind me.

When I arrived, I heard the girl screaming in agony. The old one was bent over her, and she smelled of him. That horrible snake! I'd gravely underestimated him. Transformations are nearly impossible, and I wouldn't have believed him capable of the self-control required to rob me of my prize. She had two sets of teeth marks, one along each arm, and her system was too poisoned for my taste. I was enraged, and I flew at him.

Our fight was long and fierce. The little thing was screaming the whole time, which nearly ruined my concentration at one point. At last, I emerged victorious. Then I had to deal with the girl. She was useless to me now, but I had to remove her from the basement before they were able to get the door open. I picked her up, inhaling her scent. Her delicious blood was tainted with his poison. A fresh wave of rage swept through me. I dropped her on the floor and ran back to the remains of the other's body. One arm remained attached to his body, clutching a small red book. I tore the arm off and threw it at the wall, where it smacked with a resounding thud. The book bounced off into the shadows. I picked the girl up again, smashed through the window, and carried her outside into the sunlight.

The sight of the sun brought about a fresh round of screams--a result, no doubt, of living in darkness for so long. This was unacceptable.

For a moment, I contemplated keeping her with me as a companion. But the young ones are always the strongest, and I realized she could easily turn on me and perhaps even best me in a fight. So I ran with her a ways into the woods and dropped her unceremoniously on the forest floor. She did not move. Even her screams were growing quieter now. Perhaps she would die. It was no concern of mine.

I turned away from her and ran at breakneck speed to the edge of the woods, on the edge of a large town. Crouching behind a tree, I waited for the cover of darkness to hide my true nature. It had been too long since I'd last fed, and I'd been robbed of my prize. But it was no matter. I would drink deeply tonight.

**A/N: I've got finals coming up, but I will have the sequel posted once they're over. Details will be on my profile--I update frequently. Thank you so much to everyone who read and especially to my wonderful reviewers! I've enjoyed sharing my story with all of you, and I'm glad that so many people have enjoyed reading it as well. **


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